Bookforts and Bets
by MsBarrows
Summary: A collection of prompt fills from Tumblr, revolving around Karl Thekla, his friendship with Niall, and the growth of his relationship with a young mage named Anders. Originally posted in my "In the Maker's Light" ficlet collection, these have now been separated out and sorted into an approximate chronological order.


**Karl and Niall, polite conversation turning deep**

"Oh… sorry, but could you please pass me the pickles?" the young dark-haired man seated to Karl's right asked, gesturing to the large tray in the middle of the table, on the other side of Karl.

"Of course," Karl said, making a long arm to hook his fingers over the side of the tray and slide it to his right, where the other could reach it. "Niall, isn't it? You were one of that batch they harrowed over the weekend?"

The other man smiled warmly at him. "Yes. It went very well – we all passed."

Karl nodded. "So I heard. Quite a relief, that."

Niall smiled briefly. "Especially for me. I don't know what frightened me more, going in – the thought that I might not make it, or that one of my friends might not."

Karl frowned. "I know what you mean. My own harrowing was… not as fortuitous. Of the three mages harrowed that day, I was the sole survivor."

Niall grimaced. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "I just wish we didn't have to go through this nonsense. It seems a damned foolish way to sort out the mages that can be trusted to resist temptation from those that can't."

"I couldn't agree more. So, have the senior mages been after you to choose a fraternity yet?" he asked, raising one eyebrow enquiringly.

Niall smiled. "Yes. But I've known my choice for a long time."

"Oh?"

"Yes. None of them. Oh, I sympathize with the Isolationist viewpoint the most, I suppose, but I think one of the biggest problems facing mages is our very factionalization. The chantry will certainly never bother listening to us as long as our voice is divided. Of course, I don't think they'd likely listen even if we _were_ united; it's not in their own best interest to do so, is it?"

"Mmmm. True," Karl agreed, and smiled warmly at the other man. "I like the way you think. I may have to try and persuade you over to the Aequitarians some day, if you ever seem to be wavering on your decision to be an independant. We could use a few more good logical thinkers."

Niall smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment. But I have no desire to serve others; I just want people to leave me alone so I can study in peace."

Karl smiled again. "Don't we all, when you get right down to it."

* * *

**Karl – Truth or Dare, That Was Completely Unexpected**

"Truth or Dare?" Niall asked.

Karl groaned. "Maker, no, not this again!"

Niall's grin widened. "Come on, you lost the chess game. _Truth_… or dare?"

Karl sighed. "Fine. _Dare_."

Niall's grin somehow managed to widen even further. "I dare you to streak in the library."

Karl stared at him. "Streak? _Me!_"

"Yes. You. Now. Does it help at all if I mention that a certain young apprentice who has been giving you the eye all week is currently in there?" he added, one eyebrow arching high and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Karl frowned and opened his mouth. Then he shut it. And then he began to strip off his robe, neatly folding it and piling it on his chair, his expression placid.

Niall grinned, and headed off to the library to find a place with a good view.

* * *

**Karl/Irving – You ought to have known better!**

There were some things Irving could turn a blind eyes to, as long as they did not occur too often, or involve anyone getting hurt. Things like the book forts the apprentices sometimes built in the library, or the tricks the more juvenile of the harrowed enchanters sometimes got up to with fire rods. At least they were – usually – intelligent enough to restrain themselves to only pranking each other, and not any of the templars, who would have taken a very dim view of their hi-jinks.

But _this_… this was not something he could ignore, not something he could explain away to Greagoir as youthful energy needing to be expressed. Not when one of the senior mages was involved.

And _not_ when Karl had had the exceptionally bad timing of performing his little feat within the Knight-Commander's eye-sight.

"Karl," Irving said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Could you _please_ explain to me why you felt the need to run through the library while in a state of undress?"

Karl blushed, and wrapped himself more tightly in the sheet that was currently his only clothing. "I'm sorry, First Enchanter, but… I don't think I really _can_ explain it."

"Right," Irving said, and stared silently at the man for a long moment. "And this wouldn't have anything to do with a certain young apprentice who was _also_ in the library at the time?"

"I don't know whom you're speaking of," Karl said, with false innocence.

Irving gave him a look. "Of course. And I'm the Queen of Orlais," he said, dryly.

"If you say so, your majesty," Karl said, and managed a credible imitation of a sweeping bow.

Irving fought back a smile. "A week on kitchen duty. And tell that young apprentice who has nothing to do with it that if he fixes a bet like that again, I shall be wroth with him, not just you."

"Of course," Karl said, and departed, wearing his sheet with dignity.

* * *

**Karl, trying to woo a certain someone. "Did you have to do that in front of everyone!" **

The apprentice was staring at him again, eyes slightly glazed, not paying any attention to the lesson like the rest of the students were. Karl only barely managed to keep himself from sighing, and instead snapped out his hand, casting his least damaging cold spell – winter's grasp – at the oblivious boy. As distracted as the apprentice was, he failed to dodge it, and managed only a brief startled yelp before he was thickly coated in ice, unable to move.

"Room too warm and comfy for you, Anders?" Karl asked acidly. "Perhaps _that_ will help you to stay alert for the rest of the lesson. See me in my office afterwards," he added, almost as an afterthought, as the other apprentices laughed or grinned at their hapless classmate.

The rest of the lesson – which thankfully was almost over anyway – passed peacefully, apart from the odd outbreak of snickering as Anders' ice coat slowly thawed, leaving the boy shivering in cold, wet robes by the end of the lesson. Karl assigned a reading and some simple casting exercises for homework, then bid the students good-day. "Anders, my office," he snapped out as he himself turned and walked out of the room.

"Can I go change first, ser?" Anders called out after him.

"No," Karl said sternly, without looking back at the miserable young man.

He had time to reach his office, set water on to boil for tea – something he could have done with magic, but preferred to do the old-fastened way, with a crackling fire in the tiny fireplace set in one wall of his small office – and prepare a couple of mugs. Then he took his seat, and made a good start on marking that day's homework before Anders finally came in, carrying his notebooks and looking as miserable as a wet cat.

"Close the door," Karl ordered, then pointed at the hard wooden chair before his desk. "Have a seat."

As Anders sat down, Karl rose, and stepped over to the fireplace. He poured hot water over the waiting tea leaves, added a couple large dollops of honey to one cup, and handed that one to Anders, keeping the unsweetened one for himself, then sat down on the edge of his desk. "Drink up before you catch cold," he said kindly.

Anders sniffed miserably and raised it to his lips. "Might be too late already," he said, and blotted at his nose with his sleeve, an action that brought a grimace to Karl's face.

"Idiot boy," he muttered, then cast again, a warming spell this time. Within moments Anders' clothes were dry again. "Better?"

"Yes ser," Anders said, and hid his face as he drank again from the mug.

"What was it that had you distracted this time?" Karl asked tiredly. There was always something… a mouse nosing along the base of the wall, the colour of a classmate's new robe, some random passing thought that had mugged Anders' attention and run off with it. He was deplorably bad at concentrating in class. A pity, given he was so talented in other things. Magic, for one. Escaping the tower, for another. Driving his teachers to distraction with his damned good looks. Or at least _one_ of his teachers, anyway, that being Karl.

Anders flushed, and muttered into his mug.

"What? Repeat that, so I can actually _hear_ it this time," Karl said.

Anders' blush darkened. "Ermm. You, ser," he said in a very timid voice.

Karl blinked. "Me?" he asked, perplexed. "How so?"

"I, umm… was thinking of the other day. When you… in the library…" he broke off, ears turning bright red.

"Oh. _Oh_," Karl said, and blushed a little himself. He really didn't know what had come over him that day. And it was all Niall's fault, anyway…

Only then did the likely meaning behind Anders' glazed look and embarrassment in speaking of it sink in.

"Oh," he said again, very quietly. And smiled.

* * *

**Karl and Niall, inviting someone over for a sandwich (any kind!) due to the outcome of a chess game!**

Karl smiled as he handed the napkin-wrapped sandwich to the apprentice. "Eat up," he said. "You need to remember to feed your body, not just your mind," he scolded him, then walked around his desk and resumed his seat. "Now, about the paper you turned in this morning…" he said, and delivered a brief lecture about proper grammar and punctuation, not to mention the importance of legible writing, hiding a smile as he watched Anders wolf down the thick sandwich. A late growth spurt had the young man looking far too skinny of late, bony wrists and ankles sticking awkwardly out of suddenly too-small robes. At least his sudden explosion of growth over the last few months had finally made him look like the young man he actually was, his last boyish puppy-fat now gone. He was going to be a tall one, Karl judged, if the spurt lasted very much longer.

"You can take that with you," he finally said, and dismissed the boy.

Anders nodded, cheek still bulged out with a mouthful of sandwich, chewing and swallowing even as he hurried off, obviously glad to have escaped the lion's den.

Niall, leaning against the wall by the door, scowled at Karl and crossed his arms over his chest. "You _know_ that wasn't the kind of sandwich I meant," he said aggrievedly.

Karl smiled beatifically. "Then you should have been more specific," he said calmly, folding his hands over his stomach as he leaned back in his chair.

* * *

**Karl/Niall – through competition!**

It was rare for Karl to win one of their chess contests, at least when a forfeit was involved. He sometimes suspected that Niall was actually a much better chess player than he, and _allowed_ him to win a few times when nothing more than their mutual entertainment was involved. Karl's theory was that such an action would lull him into a false sense of accomplishment, and make him more readily agree when Niall proposed a contest. At least the pattern to date had him almost always losing their contests, and having to meet whatever forfeit the other mage proposed.

It had, in fact, been so long a time since he'd ever won a forfeit against Niall that he'd not even given any serious thought towards what forfeit to claim if he did, in fact, win. He stared down at the board, then looked up at Niall, who was looking almost equally surprised.

"Well then," the other mage said. "And what shall my forfeit be?"

Karl frowned in thought. What _should_ it be? The last few times he'd lost, Niall had given him some rather personally embarrassing forfeits to fulfil, most of them revolving around a certain young Anderfallian apprentice that Niall knew Karl had a bit of a crush on.

"Hrmm," Karl mused, covering his mouth with one hand and then stroking it downwards over his beard, thereby hiding a smile. He'd actually been rather looking forward to losing to Niall this time, since whatever forfeit he received would undoubtedly involve said apprentice again, and… He hadn't mentioned it to Niall yet, but things were actually going quite well between him and the young man of late. Well enough for him to know that his crush on the youth wasn't one-sided, certainly.

And then he really did smile, as a bit of information came to mind – something about an entirely _different_ apprentice that his own had let slip in conversation the day before when Niall's name had come up. "That Surana girl you tutor," he said casually.

Niall promptly flushed. It was no secret to Karl that the man found the elf attractive. She, on the other hand, was not in the _least_ interested in Niall, poor man. His smile widened further. "She has a friend."

"A… friend? Or a _friend?_" Niall asked warily.

"Normal friend. That Jowan boy – you remember the one, surely… you helped raise him, as I recall."

"Oh, _Jowan_," Niall said, making a bit of a face. "Poor boy. I don't know what is worse, dragging children here to the tower when they're half-grown and have their life all planned out already, or when they're so young they're barely off the teat and won't recall anything beyond life in the tower. What about Jowan?"

Karl's smile turned saturnine. "It seems he's developed a bit of a crush on someone. And having been raised in the tower, he's likely rather vague on the whole_ birds and the bees_ notion. Someone needs to make sure the boy gets clued in on the facts of life…"

Niall went pale. "Oh no. No no no. I am _not_ going to be the one to give Jowan the Talk!"

Karl smiled and gestured at the chessboard between them. "Oh, yes you are," he said.

"You know, some times I really, really hate you," Niall said, and sighed in defeat. "Fine. But don't think I'm going to forget this. The next time you owe _me_ a forfeit…"

Karl just grinned. He was looking forward to their next contest already.

* * *

**Karl/Niall and sweet, sweet payback. "Wait, are you actually enjoying this?"**

Niall leaned back in one of the comfortable armchairs near the fire and sipped at his tea, then picked up a cookie and nibbled on the edge. "This is very nice," he said, and craned his head around to look at Karl, seated at Niall's desk and frowning as he read his way through a student paper, marking it. "You can join me when you're done," he added magnanimously.

"Hmmm. Sounds delightful," Karl said distractedly, then picked up his pen, dipped it in ink, and quickly scrawled something at the bottom of a paper, blotting it carefully before adding it to the stack of completed work.

Niall grinned, and settled back more comfortably into his seat. "I should have thought of this sooner," he said. "Having you do all the tedious marking, that is."

"I wouldn't exactly call it tedious," Karl said, sounding amused. "The creativity of the young never ceases to amaze me."

Niall snorted, then craned around to look at Karl again. "You can't fool me. I've marked enough student papers to know what a deadly boring job that is," he said, and nodded his head towards the stack of finished papers.

"I don't know… I've always found it rather interesting, some of the odds and ends the students write about when they don't know the actual answer to questions. And this seems to have been a particularly dim-witted group when it came to actually understanding the material. Or perhaps you're just not a very good teacher," he added with a grin.

"Hey!" Niall exclaimed, offended, sitting up straighter so abruptly he almost slopped tea on his robes. "I'll have you know I'm an _excellent_ teacher."

"Mmmm, perhaps, though it's hard to tell from the papers your students are writing. Though some of their ideas on ways to use their powers were quite amusingly novel. Not on subject, of course, so I did have to deduct marks for them. Though I gave full marks to the apprentice who turned in an erotic ode about you. Three pages long… surprisingly well-written, too."

"What! You're joking," Niall said, putting aside his tea and rising to his feet.

Karl glanced up, and smiled. "Perhaps. But the only way _you'll_ ever know is to go through all the papers yourself."

"You're lying," Niall said firmly, then took a step closer, eyeing the towering stack of marked papers with some trepidation. "Aren't you?" A pause. "Who was it?"

Karl simply smiled, and scrawled something at the foot of the current paper. "That would be telling."

* * *

**Karl/Anders -"Just… don't throw me away"**

He was enough older than the boy to think of him as a boy, even though he was technically a young man now. It had been easier, somehow, to keep his distance from the apprentice as long as he'd thought of him that way. _The boy_. Too young for him to consider dallying with. The boy, however, had made it rather obvious that he didn't consider Karl too old. Had, in fact, done everything he could to make his attraction to Karl obvious – but not too obvious, though a few people had picked up on it anyway. And… well, Karl was not made of stone.

As _knowing_ as the boy had managed to make himself seem, as mature as he often acted – apart from the occasional inevitable outbreak of childishness endemic to all the apprentices, and a goodly proportion of the younger harrowed mages as well – it shocked Karl when he realized that the boy had only the vaguest of ideas of how to go about things. He certainly hadn't expected to see that particular mix of scared and excited in Anders' eyes when he'd finally succumbed and agreed to a tryst with the boy. He hadn't even realized at first what the look meant, other than that Anders was nervous about finally getting what he'd made it clear he wanted – not until he told the boy to ready himself and it became immediately obvious that the boy hadn't the faintest clue what that meant.

"Andraste's virgin arse, boy," he exclaimed. "Haven't you ever…?"

"No," Anders said, and looked up at him, cheeks flushed with both arousal and embarrassment. "You're my first."

Karl cursed, then. Anders went pale. "You're not going to… to change your mind, are you?" he asked, apprehensively.

It probably would have been wiser if he had, but having finally made up his mind and agreed to it, he was hardly going to change his mind again. "No. I'm not going to stop," Karl said, and frowned at the boy. "Though I do wish you'd told me, before."

"Why?"

"Because a first time should be _special_, Anders, not just… not just a quick shagging bent over a desk, which is what you were about to get."

Anders' cheeks darkened even further. "It _is_ special," he insisted stubbornly. "As long as it's with you."

Karl snorted, then pulled the boy upright. "Young idiot," he said – not unfondly – and put his arms around Anders, hugging him close and smiling down at the anxious, upraised face. He sighed. "We're still going to go ahead with this, but we're going to do things a little differently than I'd intended. All right?"

Anders smiled, looking as bright-eyed and happy as a freshly-praised puppy. "All right," he agreed.

"Good," Karl said. "Now. Off with the robe," he said, and released the boy, then walked over and touched his fingers to the handle of his office door, casting a very minor spell that insured that it would jam if someone tried to open it unexpectedly. By the time he turned around, the boy was hauling off his under-robe, with his over-robe, belt and pauldrons abandoned in a pile on the floor. Karl snorted slightly, then walked over, stooping down to pick up the clothing. "You'll hardly look innocent leaving here if there's dust smudged all over your clothing," he scolded, and tossed the clothing over a nearby chair after shaking it out.

"Yes, ser," Anders said, as he finally got the under-robe pulled off. Karl intercepted it before the boy could add it to the pile. "We'll be needing that," he said, and folded it neatly, then placed it on his desk, before his chair. He sat down, then glanced at Anders. "Smallclothes off too, Anders. And then sit down. There," he said, and gestured at the pad of cloth.

Anders obeyed with alacrity, and was soon perched on the desk before Karl. The older mage smiled at the sight of him, on the cusp between awkward youth and grown man, still gawky from his last spurt and, by the size of his hands and feet, still with some growing left to do. He'd be a tall man, some day, Karl thought – likely taller than Karl himself was. And handsome – that was already clear. Karl reached out, rested his hands on the boy's legs, just above his knees, and let his thumbs rub just slightly against the inside of his thighs. Anders promptly blushed again, hands tightening on the edge of the desk, his cock lifting a little in reaction.

"Ser?" he said, nervously.

"_Ser_ is for teachers and templars, Anders. In private, you can call me Karl."

"Karl. What… what are you going to do?"

Karl smiled warmly at him. "Well, first off, I'm going to see to it that you enjoy this very much. And then I'm going to enjoy _you_ very much."

That drew another pleased look and an even deeper blush from the boy, and another twitch upward from his cock. Karl smiled, then slid his hands upwards, noting how Anders' breath caught as they drew closer to his erection. "Relax," he told him, gently. "And spread your legs a little."

Anders' first orgasm came quickly, in the way of excited youth, with very little in the way of touch from Karl's mouth and hands, though the surprised pleasure on his face and in his soft cries more than made up for any brevity, the mage thought. His second one, some time later, with Karl standing between his thighs, one arm around Anders and the fingers of his other hand buried deep inside the boy, busily putting the product of a grease spell to use, made the older mage grin in satisfaction. And – bless the resiliency of youth – he had a third one some time later yet, with his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Karl and the older mage planted deep inside him, his keening cry muffled against Karl's shoulder.

He helped Anders redress afterwards, the young mage a touch disoriented and clumsy in the aftermath, and then, deciding his exhausted look was rather too much of a giveaway, cast a spell to revive his flagging energy. Just a small one, enough to be sure the boy would be able to make it back to his own room under his own power. He kissed him, afterwards, feeling well-pleased with himself.

"Just remember," he cautioned Anders. "It won't do either of us any good for anyone – particularly for any of the templars – to learn of this relationship. No bragging or gloating or dropping hints, all right?"

"Yes," Anders said, and then his jaw set mulishly. "I _am_ going to get to see you again, aren't I? And do more of this sort of thing… you won't just toss me aside, now that you've had me, will you?"

"No, Anders," Karl reassured him. "I won't just throw you away. I probably shouldn't have gotten involved with you in the first place, but… well, now that I have, you're welcome to see more of me whenever we can safely arrange it. All right?"

"Yes," Anders said, grinning widely, looking much more boyish than he actually was.

Karl snorted, softly, and then pushed him gently toward the door. "Now go. Try not to attract anyone's attention, and make sure to bathe properly as soon as you get back down to the apprentice floor! For some strange reason, you reek of sex."

"Yes, ser," Anders said happily, and hurried off.

* * *

**Anders/Karl – That is Not What The Library Is For**

Irving squeezed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Anders I could understand, but _you_, Karl – a respected member of the faculty – whatever possessed you!"

Karl blushed. Anders hid a smile.

"I'm sorry, ser, it seemed like a good idea at the time," he said apologetically.

Irving shook his head. "Clean it up. _Both_ of you. If any sign of it remains tomorrow morning, Greagoir will be hearing of this. This is _not_ what the library is for!"

"Yes, ser," they quickly answered. He watched pointedly until they'd begun work before turning and stalking away.

He did have to admit though – privately, in his own head – that is was by far the most well-constructed book-fort he'd yet seen made by anyone, even surpassing his own youthful efforts so many years ago.

* * *

**Anders and Karl in the Circle; Karl calming down an upset Anders. **

Anders' hands were shaking, just a faint tremor. As Karl watched he tightened them into fists, his knuckles showing white against the skin for a moment, before flattening them out again. They were still, briefly, then the shaking began again.

Karl frowned and finished brewing the tea, pouring it out into the two prepared mugs – one with cream and a little sugar, one with enough honey in it to turn the liquid into a sweet syrup. He picked them up and carried them over, holding the honey-sweetened mug down where Anders could see it. He blinked and looked up, eyes still red-rimmed and face streaked from crying, though the tears, at least, had ended. When he took the cup, his hand shook again, so badly the tea almost slopped out of it.

Karl sat down on the bed beside him; not touching, not when he wasn't sure if the youth would react with further tears, or with the explosive anger he sometimes fell prey to when things had turned especially ugly in his life.

Anders hands steadied as he lifted the cup to his lips and drank, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, draining off most of the cup before finally lowering it, putting it aside on the table beside the bed. A tension seemed to leave his body. He turned, and leaned his forehead against Karl's shoulder. Karl took a sip from his own mug, and then put his arm around the younger man's shoulders, pulling him close. Anders' hand lifted up, locking into the fabric of Karl's robe, holding on tightly.

Not further tears or anger then; just quiet despair. He ran his hand comfortingly up and down Anders' upper arm, wishing there was something he could say to ease him. But there were no words, and so he just held him, sipping occasionally at his own slowly cooling tea, until Anders finally went limp against him, dropping off into exhausted sleep.

* * *

**Karl taking care of an injured Anders **

"Ow. _Shit_," Anders exclaimed, wincing away from Karl's hand.

The older mage gave him a stern look. "Sit still," he said. "You'll be in even worse shape if this festers. You're lucky they're even allowing you this much treatment."

Anders frowned, a sullen expression, and started to retort about just how _lucky_ he thought he was, but Karl glared at him and he fell silent again instead, sitting quietly as the older man sponged at the bruised and bleeding skin to the left of his eye. After a few minutes Karl sighed, his hands dropping to rest on either knee, one still holding the bowl of astringent elfroot poultice, the other the folded cloth he'd been using to clean the worst of Anders' thankfully minor injuries.

"This will only get worse if you escape again, you know," he said, very softly. It hurt to think of the boy being hurt any further than he already was; brought back bruised and bleeding by the templars, then given a whipping; ten strokes, well-marked. Those had taken the longest to treat, with magic unable to work in this cell deep beneath tower.

"That's never stopped me before," Anders said, looking away, mouth setting stubbornly. He didn't need to say that it wouldn't stop him now; if anything, the opposite – the punishment he'd received making him _more_ likely to flee again, not less.

Karl sighed, dropped the cloth in the bowl, and reached out to gently touch Anders' face, turning him back to look at him. "Perhaps it's not escaping you need to be practising. Perhaps it's the _not getting caught_ afterwards you should concentrate on."

Anders laughed, and then smiled at him, his bruises momentarily forgotten. "I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, this isn't so bad… a month in solitary? I'll catch up on my sleep, and be well-rested for my next attempt."

Karl sighed, and leaned forward to kiss the younger mage on the forehead – as much as he dared do, with a templar standing just outside the cell. "I'll see you in a month," he said, and stood and walked away. He stopped at the door, glancing back at Anders over his shoulder. "Be careful."

* * *

**Anders/Karl – Virtue of Patience**

Karl leaned back in his chair, frowning as the wood creaked with the shift in weight.

"And your point?" he asked the man standing across the desk from him.

"He's a trouble maker; if you keep spending time with him the way you have, the templars are going to start keeping a closer eye on _you_, as well," the man answered. "You've had a good reputation for years; you shouldn't sacrifice it for his sake."

Karl just looked at him for a long moment before answering. "I have never let the templars control my life to the extent of deciding whom in the tower I can and cannot be friends with," he finally said, mildly. "Thank you for your concern, however."

The other mage stared at him for a long moment, then scowled. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he said, turned, and swept out of the room.

Karl sighed and went back to his reading, wondering how many more interruptions he was going to have to tolerate.

"Maybe he's right," a voice said from nearby, making him jump, startled – he hadn't realized anyone else was in the room. "Maybe it would be wiser to ignore me."

He looked around, frowning. "Anders?"

"Up here."

He looked up, and felt his eyebrows rising up as he finally spotted the younger mage, perched like an owl on one of the corbels set in a row high up on the wall. "Whatever are you doing up there?" he asked. "Get down before you fall down and break your fool neck."

Anders grinned unrepentantly, and rose to his feet, stepping from corbel to corbel as blithely as if he was walking down the hallway until he reached the corner, where he dropped down to the top of a tall bookcase, and from there to the floor. He dusted off and straightened his robe, then walked over to Karl's desk, sitting down on the corner of it.

"No one ever thinks to look up," he said, smiling warmly at Karl as he picked up the book he'd been reading, glanced at the title, closed it, and put it aside. "I was watching you. Waiting for your seemingly endless stream of visitors to end. Maker but you're a popular man!"

Karl snorted, then pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "How long have you been up there?" he asked curiously, as he walked over and closed the door, wedging a scrap of wood in the hinge side of it; not quite a lock, but it insured the door would jam rather than opening fully. Easily blamed on the damp air from the lake, of course…

"Since you were off having lunch," Anders replied.

Karl gave him another surprised look. "That was _hours_ ago," he pointed out.

"I know," Anders said plaintively. "I rather enjoyed that talk on the ethics of spirit healing you had with Wynne. Though that plump fellow you were talking to afterwards is too much in love with the sound of his own voice, I fear. I didn't think I was _ever _going to get you alone. I hope my patience is going to be rewarded?" he asked hopefully.

Karl snorted, then walked back over to his desk. "I suppose I can consider doing that," he answered lightly, and found himself smiling in anticipation at the look Anders gave him in response.

* * *

**Karl/Anders – role reversal **

"Maker, Karl… what _happened!_" Anders exclaimed, mouth dropping open as he took in the bedraggled state of the old man.

Karl looked up from where he sat on the edge of his bed, eyes empty, cheeks marked with the dried tracks of tears. His lip was split, and a bruise was darkening one cheek. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then just shook his head, face crumpling as he began to cry. Anders hurried over and knelt on the floor in front of him, peering up into his face and taking Karl's hands in his, frowning as he noted how cold they were. "Karl? What happened?" he asked again, softly.

Karl drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Jeffrey. He… they…" he stopped, pulling his hands out of Anders' to press them to his own face, weeping bitterly.

"Tranquil?" Anders asked, horrified. He knew that Karl had been working with the young mage for weeks, trying to get the boy past his horror over his own recently-acquired mage powers. He'd been a pious boy, from a family with no history of magic on either side for generations – he hadn't adjusted at all well to the abrupt discovery that he himself was a mage.

"Yes," Karl rasped out. "They told me he _begged_ them to do it. He was so young, Anders… so damned young, and so damned _scared_…"

"Damn them," Anders said, harshly. "Damn them all, the templars and the chantry too."

Karl gave a short, bitter laugh. "If only damning them could actually make a difference. But words don't matter. Not enough, anyway. Words couldn't save Jeffrey. Words weren't enough to convince them to give me one last chance to talk him out of this. Even action wasn't enough," he added, bitterly, gesturing at his bruised face. "All it earned me was this."

Anders sat down on the bed, wrapping his arms around Karl and holding him as the older man cried, trying to comfort him, as Karl had so often given him comfort. He wished there were words he could say to make it magically better, but what words _could_ you say, when someone you knew had _chosen_ to become the next-best-thing to dead, rather than remain a mage? Words were not enough for that; words would never be enough.

* * *

**Anders/Isabela**

Anders pulled another mug of cheap ale, slipping it across the bar in exchange for a few copper pieces, which he promptly dropped through the slot in the top of the lockbox. Sanka was very insistent about that; too many light-fingered patrons about to leave money lying around. If patrons needed change, they had to see her for it.

As the sailor who'd bought the ale turned and walked away, a woman slipped into the spot he'd vacated; Rivaini, judging by her dusky skin tone, warm brown eyes, and multiple piercings. She gave him an appreciative look that put him uncomfortably in mind of the way the sailors she'd come in with were eyeing the whores in the rest the room. "You're new," she observed, then looked over her shoulder.

"Sanga!" she called out. "Who is this delicious young thing, and is he for sale?"

Sanga pushed her way through the crowd toward the bar, a smile lighting her face – to Anders' surprise, a real smile, not the professional curve of lips that most customers received.

"Isabela!" Sanga exclaimed, and the two women exchanged a friendly hug. "Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but he's staff, not merchandise – my new bartender."

"Another new one? What happened to the old one?"

"Fingers in the till."

"I take it they're in the gutter now?" Isabela asked.

"Something like that," Sanga agreed, then turned to Anders. "Whatever she wants to drink, on the house," she instructed him, then turned back to the other woman. "Do try not to corrupt him, dear?"

"Me? Never," Isabela said, and turned back to Anders with a wide smile and a raised eyebrow. "Unless you want to be?"

"Umm… I'll get back to you on that," he answered guardedly, feeling more than a little flustered. He served her drink, and watched her sashay away, men in the room automatically making way for her as she headed off to a corner table.

They certainly didn't have anything like _that_ back in the Tower, he found himself thinking. Maybe just a _little_ corruption wouldn't hurt.

* * *

**Karl interacts with either Greagoir or Irving, or both **

He had ignored the closed door and pushed his way into Irving's office before he realized that Irving had a guest. He froze for a moment as the two grey-haired men turned to look at him, then closed the door behind him anyway and took a few steps forward, nodding curtly to both of them.

"My apologies for the interruption, First Enchanter," he said stiffly. "Knight-Commander. I'm here about…"

"Anders," Irving said, and sighed, pinching at and then rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yes. We were just discussing him, so I suppose you might as well stay. It will at least save me having to repeat it all to you later," he added dryly, and waved his hand to the side. "Have a seat."

Karl nodded, and fetched over a chair from the side of the room, setting it down near the Knight-Commander's seat. The other two men resumed their interrupted conversation as he sat down.

"Three months of solitary? Isn't that a little harsh?" Irving asked.

Greagoir frowned and shook his head. "It's the minimum I could give him. He's lucky to not be facing worse; I've had enquiries from Val Royeaux about our rebellious young mage – they don't understand why I haven't already made an example of him. Five escapes…" he said, and shook his head again. "You do realize that if this were Orlais he'd already be dead."

"Which would be an absolute _waste_," Karl snapped, angry enough to be unable to hold his tongue. "Spirit healers are phenomenally rare…"

Irving gave Karl a quelling look. "Which is, I believe, the argument that Greagoir has been using so far to preserve the boy's life. That and his youth. If only he'd settle down, and be patient… as a spirit healer he'd be allowed to travel, when his skills were needed, as Wynne used to before she decided she'd had enough of gallivanting about the countryside."

"We have to be able to trust that he won't take off for the hills at the first opportunity, however," Greagoir pointed out. "Without that trust, he's just going to end up stuck here longer. And every time he escapes it makes it that much longer a wait before I'd be able to declare him trustworthy without having my superiors questioning my judgement – and possibly overruling or even replacing me, which none of us want to see, I'm sure. Anyway, I've named his punishment already – we'll just have to hope it changes his attitude this time," he said, then rose to his feet. "I have work to do. I'll speak to you again later, Irving."

Irving nodded, and watched him go.

"He'll never co-operate, you know," Karl said, quietly, once the door had closed behind the Knight-Commander.

"I know," Irving said, equally quietly. "But what can we do, except try to protect him from his youthful folly?"

Karl raised an eyebrow. "Is it folly? Is it really? To wish freedom?"

Irving frowned. "At the moment, sadly, yes it is."

* * *

**Anders/Karl – Exciting enough for you yet, or should we bring company?**

Karl drew a deep, unsteady breath, took a firmer grip on the carved embellishment above him, and rose slowly to his feet. He very carefully did not look down, instead turning his head to his right, where Anders was sauntering across the wide top of a massive stone buttress as if he wasn't at least fifteen times his height over the unforgiving stone floor far below.

"See? It's easy," Anders called to him softly, voice barely louder than a whisper. With good reason; they weren't all _that_ far above the darkened rooms and dimly lit hallway of the senior mage offices, and while there weren't templars standing on guard here all night as there was on the mage bedroom and apprentice dormitory levels, there was still the chance of a patrolling templar passing close enough to hear them if they weren't careful. "Come on – follow me, it's easy from here on out."

Karl snorted softly. Easy – that's what Anders had said the climb would be. True, it hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be, the ancient builders having cleverly hidden what was pretty much a ladder in the placement of the deeper indentations of the decorative band of carving that rose up the side of the buttress. But it was still a far cry from what he'd call _easy_, especially with heavy robes hampering the movement of his legs.

"Are you coming?" Anders called, almost to the far side of the archway now.

Karl drew another deep breath, trying to calm his nerve. The stone arch was wide, broader than his own not-inconsiderable shoulders, and while it arched gently from where he was up to where Anders now was, it was flat from side to side; something that would have been a joke to walk along down at ground level. It was only the great fall waiting him if he slipped that made it seem hazardous. He fixed his eyes on the far end, on Anders, and took his first step forward, then the next. Step after step after step, desperately trying to not think of all that empty air below him, until he reached Anders, and the broad ledge encircling the inner wall of the tower that the interior buttresses all connected to. Wide as a walkway, though rather deplorably lacking in handrail.

Anders gave him an approving grin, then turned and trotted off along it as carelessly as if there wasn't a gaping chasm to his left. Karl stayed as close to the wall as he could, resolutely keeping his eyes on Anders' back as he followed the younger man around the curve of the tower, to where one of the rare full-height walls separated the ring of rooms into discrete sections. There was a decorative pattern of openings in the stonework, which he knew looked like delicate tracery from down below, but up close, up here, displayed their truly gargantuan size; big enough for a man to pass through. And one of the openings was perfectly placed in relation to the ledge so that one just had to duck a little and step over a low rim onto where the ledge continued on the other side of the wall to do so.

He was surprised to find himself in a darkened space between two separate walls here, only faintly lit by the light coming in from the matching openings in both walls. Anders had vanished out of sight somewhere; he hadn't gone through the other wall, where the ledge continued on around the curve of the tower, or at least if he had Karl didn't see how he'd managed to get out of sight so quickly. "Where are you?" he called softly, peering around worriedly.

"Over here," Anders' voice called from somewhere off to his left, then a candle flamed alight, and Karl stared in astonishment at what the light revealed. There was a wedge-shaped room up here, in between the two walls, narrowest at the point where it touched the ledge, and running all the way from there to the exterior wall, widening steadily as it went, the ceiling a high, pointed arch coming together a couple of body lengths overhead. The room had been decorated – if it could be called that – with a large number of pillows, blankets, a few small boxes, and a vast horde of books. Unlit candles perched here and there.

"Is this where you disappear off to all the time?" Karl asked, amazed.

Anders grinned, clearly pleased by Karl's reaction to his hideout. "Sometimes. This is the best of several hideouts I have, actually – I call it the library, for obvious reasons. I'm not the only person to have ever used these spaces though; a lot of these books were already up here when I first discovered it, but they were all covered with dust so I think it's been a long time since someone else last made use of them."

"Impressive," Karl said, as he walked around the dimly-lit space, peering at the titles on books. His fingers itched to open and read them, especially when he spotted a few volumes that he knew were not obtainable in the tower's actual library; either banned entirely at some point in the past, or only available to study with special permission.

"Anyway, this isn't what I brought you up here to show you," Anders said, grinning happily. "Or not all of it, at least. Come this way," he said, and walked off into the darkness beyond the circle of candlelight, toward the outer wall of the tower.

Karl heard Anders grunt with effort, then there was a metallic scraping sound, followed by a creak. A lighter rectangle appeared in the darkness; a door. A door through the outer wall. He saw Anders silhouetted in the opening for a moment, then he stepped through it and to one side, out of sight.

"Come see," Anders called back quietly. "You'll love this."

Karl picked his way carefully across the book- and pillow-strewn floor, over to the door, and peered cautiously out, then gasped and froze at the sight that met his eyes. The door let out onto a slightly-slanted deck that circled the tower, a high wind-swept empty ledge of stone that circled the entire tower, where the outer walls stepped inwards by several body lengths, broken only by the upward-projecting tops of the massive piers of stone that helped support the weight of the tower. The room they'd been in, that space between the walls, was just the topmost end of one.

Anders was standing a few feet away, well back from the edge, limned by moonlight and with the wind whipping at his hair and robes, looking out over the view below. As Karl edged away from the door, feeling a little dizzy at their distance above the ground, Anders caught his wind-whipped hair in one fist – a problem Karl didn't have, thanks to his much shorter locks – and turned to smile warmly at him. "You see?" he asked, swinging his other arm wide to take in the countryside spread out below. "Isn't it beautiful?"

And it was, Karl had to admit, a truly spectacular view. They were phenomenally high up above the lake and surrounding countryside here, and he could only imagine how much more impressive the view must be by daylight, with what felt like a pretty sizable chunk of Ferelden spread out before them like a map on a table. An almost literal bird's eye view.

"It is," he told Anders. "It truly is beautiful. But this… errr… this isn't one of the ways you escape, is it?" he asked, worriedly eyeing the sheer edge of the roof.

"Andraste's arse, no! I'd fall off from exhaustion before I could climb all the way down from here," Anders exclaimed, much to Karl's relief. "We're three quarters of the way up the tower here, you know. Though I did once crawl over to the edge on a nice calm day and peek down, just to see what it's like. It's got the same carving-ladders here and there as the inside does, a lot of hooks and rings set into the stone to attach ropes to, and some nice wide ledges; I think it was built that way so things like the windows could be maintained, though Maker only knows when anyone last ever did any such thing. Anyway, no, there's other doors and openings much lower down that I can use, when I can reach them – they're mostly in places I can't easily get to without being noticed, and the templars definitely know about some of them; they're guarded, or locked, a few have even been permanently sealed over."

Karl nodded, only half-listening to Anders now, mostly just turning around to face different directions, staring out across what he could see of the tower's surroundings. They both fell silent for a while, then Anders shivered.

"Windy tonight… we should go back indoors where it's nice and warm. I have a bottle of brandy hidden away, and a tin of biscuits. And perhaps we might make use of some of the pillows for a while before we head back down, hmmm?" Anders asked, wagging his eyebrows up and down in what he clearly thought was a suggestive way, though Karl thought it was rather more ridiculous than alluring.

Karl laughed softly. "I'm surprised you're not trying to talk me into sex under the stars, out here. That seems rather the sort of thing you'd enjoy."

Anders grinned. "Too cold, and the stone is too blasted hard. I'd rather have a few nice soft pillows under me. Though if you don't think some comfy pillows and sex and a light snack is exciting enough, we could always try and talk that friend of yours into climbing up here too."

"Niall? Somehow I can't picture him clambering up into the rafters just for a threesome with us. It's the wrong kind of adventurous for him."

Anders grinned. "You never know – he might surprise you. I didn't think I'd be able to talk _you_ into coming up, yet here you are," he pointed out, before leading the way back inside to the promised pillows, biscuits and brandy.

* * *

**Anders, Karl, Niall. Oh, this is going to be a bit tricky, huh…**

"The things you talk me into…" Karl muttered softly.

Anders turned and gave him a wide smile. "You can't tell me you're not interested in the idea," he said, and his smile widened into an outright grin. "Not after how exci…"

"Hush, Anders," Karl interrupted, frowning slightly even as he flushed at the memory. "Or I'll turn around and go back to my own room right now. _Alone_."

Anders immediately fell silent. They resumed their walk down the darkened hallway, thankfully deserted at this time of night. Karl felt his ears burning again as he imagined how embarrassing it would be if someone _did_ catch him and Anders here, where they had no business being at this time of night, much less together.

Finally he stopped at one of the doors lining the hallway, and scratched at the wood with one finger – a noise like a mouse nibbling on wood, rather than a too-recognizable knock. The door quickly opened, Niall stepping aside to let the two of them into his quarters. "The things you talk me into," he said a touch ruefully, once the door was closed, drawing a soft laugh from Karl and a wide grin from Anders.

"I blame Anders," Karl said softly. "And that last chess game."

That drew a soft laugh from Niall, and a second, equally wide grin from Anders.

"Well, shall we?" Karl said, brows rising questioningly.

Niall nodded, and led the way through his tiny private study and into the bedroom adjacent to it; far more privacy than most mages were accorded, but despite his comparative youth Niall had already won high rank; high enough to have privacy for his studies.

It was a pleasant room, with its own small fireplace and a tiny window high on the wall, furnished with a large bed against the wall under the window, an armoire to one side, a chest at the foot of the bed, as well as a pair of small storage tables to either side of it, both with lit candles on top. One also had a pitcher of watered wine and several mismatched glasses.

They stood in silence a moment, both older men feeling unexpectedly awkward.

"Well, let's get to it, shall we?" said Anders, smiling happily even as his hands reached to begin unfastening his belt.

Karl and Niall exchanged a look, and equally amused smiles, then they, too, began to strip.

* * *

**Anders, Karl, Niall – Wait, wait, what are you doing with that, are you sure that is safe?**

Three in one bed, particularly when it was not a very large bed to begin with, was awkward. Knees and elbows everywhere you turned. But also more intriguing bits of anatomy, which Niall was having great fun exploring, while other hands and mouths explored him in turn.

He still couldn't believe that Karl and Anders had invited him to join them; especially given how recently it had been that Karl had finally overcome his scruples to enter into a relationship with the younger mage at all. Anders had been making no secret of his attraction to his teacher for some time now, but it wasn't until after his recent Harrowing that Karl had finally accepted that Anders was more than old enough to make up his mind about entering such a relationship. Perhaps the biggest stumbling block for Karl had been that he _was_ Anders' teacher, and he thought of a more personal relationship with the young mage as potentially being of questionable morality. Yet Karl was still Anders' teacher, the young healer having considerable learning yet to do. Harrowing tested only a mage's ability to resist possession, not their knowledge and skill in the assorted esoteric fields of magic, after all.

While Niall had had his own tumbles in bed with Karl before – one of several benefits of their long-term friendship – he suspected he likely owed his current invitation to join the both of them to the younger mage. Anders was definitely a lot more adventurous than Karl was, though judging by the rather intriguing things Karl was currently doing with his mouth, the older mage had already learned a few new tricks from his protege. Niall was finding it increasingly difficult to stay quiet as the two teamed up on him.

Karl lifted his head, grinning as Niall moaned over what Anders was currently do to him. "You should show him that little trick of yours," the older mage said.

"Little trick?" Niall asked curiously.

Anders grinned too, and held up his hand, fingers out-spread and just slightly cupped. Tiny threads of electricity began to spark between his fingertips, making a faint crackling sound as they popped in and out of view.

"Uh… I don't know about this… are you sure that's safe?" Niall asked anxiously, trying to squirm away from the young mage.

"Trust me," Karl purred as he nuzzled into Niall's hair, his voice low and husky. "You'll like it._ I_ certainly did," he said, then licked the curve of Niall's ear.

Niall's only response was another even louder moan.

* * *

**Karl, Niall, Jowan – Just help him, will you?**

"He just needs a little tutoring, then I'm sure he'll do well…" Niall said, and looked beseechingly at Karl.

Karl, having listened attentively to Niall's very long request – two minutes of speech with no real pause for breath – found himself wondering why the other man was so interested in finding help for his troubled pupil. He sounded almost desperate.

"I may be able to help," Karl said, cautiously, trying to place the apprentice of whom Niall had spoken. The name awoke no particular memories, unfortunately. Perhaps the boy was new to the tower? "How old did you say he was?" he asked.

"I didn't. He's twenty-one," Niall promptly answered.

Karl almost dropped his cup and saucer. "Twenty-one! And still not harrowed!?" he exclaimed, horrified.

"No. This is his last chance; he either makes enough progress to be harrowed before his next nameday, or they'll make him tranquil," Niall said, sounding miserable.

Karl frowned. "Twenty-one… oh! He's not that tall skinny fellow, is he? With the pasty complexion and messy black hair?"

Niall winced. "That would be him," he admitted, almost reluctantly.

"Maker, man… surely you're aware of the rumours about him?" Karl asked, startled. "Word is he's been dabbling in blood magic."

"I'm sure that's a false rumour," Niall said firmly. "Remember, they used to say that about _me_, too, once upon a time. Actually he reminds me of myself very much; he's bright, very bright, and talented – strong potential. All he lacks is self-confidence."

"Now that's something you've never lacked," Karl said, smiling fondly at his friend.

Niall grinned back. "True. But apart from that… Maker, Karl, the few times I've managed to get the boy talking – he's _brilliant_. It would be a tragedy if that mind was wasted. I'd take on training him myself but I've already got more students than I really have enough time for, and as they're all harrowed mages I can't drop any of them to take on a mere apprentice. And you're good with apprentices, Karl; I'm sure if he had you as a teacher for a while he'd manage to pull himself together enough to be given his harrowing properly. Just help him, will you?"

Karl frowned. "I'm not sure…"

Niall cut him off. "_Please_, Karl – I helped with getting your friend Anders out of trouble, didn't I? This is the first time I've asked a like favour in return, and Jowan really needs the help, as much as your young friend did."

Karl gave Niall a sharp look at that. And then it hit him. "Niall… are you _interested_ in the boy? Beyond whatever brilliance he may possess?" he asked slowly.

Niall flushed, and looked away, looking more than a little miserable. "Yes. A little. Only I already know it's a lost cause… he's not interested in men," he said firmly, turning back to Karl, his chin setting stubbornly. "But that doesn't make me want to help him any less! Just talk to him, Karl – I'm sure once you see how smart he is, you'll want to help him as well."

"All right, all right… I'll see what I can do," Karl said. "I can't promise anything, of course – with the sort of rumours already going around about him, it may be very difficult to persuade the powers that be to allow his harrowing. But I'll try."

"_Thank_ you," Niall said, beaming happily at him. "I won't forget this."

Karl smiled. "I'm sure you won't. Well… enough of that. Are you free tomorrow night. I've picked up a new chess strategy I'm dying to try out against you…"

* * *

**Anders, post year of Solitary confinement! **

The light hurt his eyes, at first. Not even sunlight, some part of him dimly recognized, but lantern light; it must be night. But after a year in the dim undervaults of the tower, where the faint mage-lights changed everything to shades of grey and blue, seeing brighter light and real colours made his eyes water with more than just the pain of adjusting to the brighter light.

He could, he thought, have happily just stood there for hours and stared at the colours in the worn tapestry hung on the wall nearby; reds and oranges and yellows, greens, purples – all the colours he hadn't seen in his year down in the darkness. But the templar accompanying him tugged on his arm, guiding him down the silent hallway, and into a small side-room.

He felt a surge of fear then, being _alone_ in a small room with a templar, but the man released his arm, and gave him a surprisingly gentle push toward where a bucket and a tub of steaming water waited. "Rinse before you get in the tub," the man ordered. "I'll be outside the door; there's a new robe on the hook over there," he gestured to one side. "Knock on the door when you're done." And turned away, and left.

Anders just stood there and trembled for a while, unable to believe at first that it was real; that it was over. Finally, hands shaking, he pulled off the noisome rags that were all that remained of the robe he'd been wearing for the last year, dropping them in a pile on the floor. He stepped toward the invitingly steaming tub, then remembered the man's words, and moved over to the bucket instead. Filled with water, it was heavier then he could currently lift; he scooped out water with his hands, instead, splashing it over himself, until it was finally light enough to lift and pour out over him.

Then the tub; hot water, steaming hot, and there was even soap, a fold of leather sitting on a footstool nearby with a scoop of soft brown lye soap on it. He started crying again, soundless tears running down his face as he cleaned himself, trying not to see the sores that stung from the harsh soap, trying not to feel the rough corrugations of the scars that streaked his back from shoulders down to the back of his thighs. Trying not to compare his current wasted, weakened, sickly and scarred state to what he'd been like a year ago, his flesh still unmarred, unscarred, fit and muscular, and tanned from the work in the fields he'd been doing until the templars had caught up with him and dragged him back here again.

He washed, over and over again, obsessively rubbing every inch of flesh he could reach, from between his toes right up to the top of his head, wishing he could remove the memories and scars of the last year as easily as he washed off the foul smell and lingering dirt of the dungeon.

When he finally rose to his feet, the water was cloudy grey with soap and dirt. He drew a fresh bucket of water from the tap, and rinsed off. He was _clean_ again, clean for the first time since they'd brought him back to the tower and locked him away. Physically clean, anyway.

He slowly dressed in the robe provided, finger-combed his wet hair and thick beard as best as he could. He stood near-motionless for a while, fingers stoking the soft, clean fabric of the robe, staring mutely at the colours of it, feeling the roughness of the embroidery on it, so similar to the roughness of the skin on his whip-scarred back. Eventually he gathered his courage, and knocked on the door, and waited for it to open.


End file.
